{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_2136/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_2136","id":"gutenberg_2136","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2136","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","English poetry -- 19th century"],"text":"Transcribed from the 1896 Chatto & Windus edition by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n                                PRINTED BY\n                 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE\n                                  LONDON\n\n\n\n\n\n                            THE TALE OF BALEN\n\n\n                                    BY\n                        ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                  LONDON\n                       CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY\n                                   1896\n\n    Copyright in the United States, 1896, by CHARLES SCRIBNER\u2019S SONS.\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION\n\n\nTO MY MOTHER\n\n\nLove that holds life and death in fee,\nDeep as the clear unsounded sea\nAnd sweet as life or death can be,\nLays here my hope, my heart, and me\nBefore you, silent, in a song.\nSince the old wild tale, made new, found grace,\nWhen half sung through, before your face,\nIt needs must live a springtide space,\nWhile April suns grow strong.\n\n_March_ 24, 1896.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TALE OF BALEN\n\n\nI\n\n\nIn hawthorn-time the heart grows light,\nThe world is sweet in sound and sight,\nGlad thoughts and birds take flower and flight,\nThe heather kindles toward the light,\n   The whin is frankincense and flame.\nAnd be it for strife or be it for love\nThe falcon quickens as the dove\nWhen earth is touched from heaven above\n   With joy that knows no name.\n\nAnd glad in spirit and sad in soul\nWith dream and doubt of days that roll\nAs waves that race and find no goal\nRode on by bush and brake and bole\n   A northern child of earth and sea.\nThe pride of life before him lay\nRadiant: the heavens of night and day\nShone less than shone before his way\n   His ways and days to be.\n\nAnd all his life of blood and breath\nSang out within him: time and death\nWere even as words a dreamer saith\nWhen sleep within him slackeneth,\n   And light and life and spring were one.\nThe steed between his knees that sprang,\nThe moors and woods that shone and sang,\nThe hours where through the spring\u2019s breath rang,\n   Seemed ageless as the sun.\n\nBut alway through the bounteous bloom\nThat earth gives thanks if heaven illume\nHis soul forefelt a shadow of doom,\nHis heart foreknew a gloomier gloom\n   Than closes all men\u2019s equal ways,\nAlbeit the spirit of life\u2019s light spring\nWith pride of heart upheld him, king\nAnd lord of hours like snakes that sting\n   And nights that darken days.\n\nAnd as the strong spring round him grew\nStronger, and all blithe winds that blew\nBlither, and flowers that flowered anew\nMore glad of sun and air and dew,\n   The shadow lightened on his soul\nAnd brightened into death and died\nLike winter, as the bloom waxed wide\nFrom woodside on to riverside\n   And southward goal to goal.\n\nAlong the wandering ways of Tyne,\nBy beech and birch and thorn that shine\nAnd laugh when life\u2019s requickening wine\nMakes night and noon and dawn divine\n   And stirs in all the veins of spring,\nAnd past the brightening banks of Tees,\nHe rode as one that breathes and sees\nA sun more blithe, a merrier breeze,\n   A life that hails him king.\n\nAnd down the softening south that knows\nNo more how glad the heather glows,\nNor how, when winter\u2019s clarion blows\nAcross the bright Northumbrian snows,\n   Sea-mists from east and westward meet,\nPast Avon senseless yet of song\nAnd Thames that bore but swans in throng\nHe rode elate in heart and strong\n   In trust of days as sweet.\n\nSo came he through to Camelot,\nGlad, though for shame his heart waxed hot,\nFor hope within it withered not\nTo see the shaft it dreamed of shot\n   Fair toward the glimmering goal of fame,\nAnd all King Arthur\u2019s knightliest there\nApproved him knightly, swift to dare\nAnd keen to bid their records bear\n   Sir Balen\u2019s northern name.\n\nSir Balen of Northumberland\nGat grace before the king to stand\nHigh as his heart was, and his hand\nWrought honour toward the strange north strand\n   That sent him south so goodly a knight.\nAnd envy, sick with sense of sin,\nBegan as poisonous herbs begin\nTo work in base men\u2019s blood, akin\n   To men\u2019s of nobler might.\n\nAnd even so fell it that his doom,\nFor all his bright life\u2019s kindling bloom\nAnd light that took no thought for gloom,\nFell as a breath from the opening tomb\n   Full on him ere he wist or thought.\nFor once a churl of royal seed,\nKing Arthur\u2019s kinsman, faint in deed\nAnd loud in word that knew not heed,\n   Spake shame where shame was nought.\n\n\u201cWhat doth one here in Camelot\nWhose birth was northward?  Wot we not\nAs all his brethren borderers wot\nHow blind of heart, how keen and hot,\n   The wild north lives and hates the south?\nMen of the narrowing march that knows\nNought save the strength of storms and snows,\nWhat would these carles where knighthood blows\n   A trump of kinglike mouth?\u201d\n\nSwift from his place leapt Balen, smote\nThe liar across his face, and wrote\nHis wrath in blood upon the bloat\nBrute cheek that challenged shame for note\n   How vile a king-born knave might be.\nForth sprang their swords, and Balen slew\nThe knave ere well one witness knew\nOf all that round them stood or drew\n   What sight was there to see.\n\nThen spake the great king\u2019s wrathful will\nA doom for six dark months to fill\nWherein close prison held him, still\nAnd steadfast-souled for good or ill.\n   But when those weary days lay dead\nHis lordliest knights and barons spake\nBefore the king for Balen\u2019s sake\nGood speech and wise, of force to break\n   The bonds that bowed his head.\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIn linden-time the heart is high\nFor pride of summer passing by\nWith lordly laughter in her eye;\nA heavy splendour in the sky\n   Uplifts and bows it down again.\nThe spring had waned from wood and wold\nSince Balen left his prison hold\nAnd lowlier-hearted than of old\n   Beheld it wax and wane.\n\nThough humble heart and poor array\nKept not from spirit and sense away\nTheir noble nature, nor could slay\nThe pride they bade but pause and stay\n   Till time should bring its trust to flower,\nYet even for noble shame\u2019s sake, born\nOf hope that smiled on hate and scorn,\nHe held him still as earth ere morn\n   Ring forth her rapturous hour.\n\nBut even as earth when dawn takes flight\nAnd beats her wings of dewy light\nFull in the faltering face of night,\nHis soul awoke to claim by right\n   The life and death of deed and doom,\nWhen once before the king there came\nA maiden clad with grief and shame\nAnd anguish burning her like flame\n   That feeds on flowers in bloom.\n\nBeneath a royal mantle, fair\nWith goodly work of lustrous vair,\nGirt fast against her side she bare\nA sword whose weight bade all men there\n   Quail to behold her face again.\nSave of a passing perfect knight\nNot great alone in force and fight\nIt might not be for any might\n   Drawn forth, and end her pain.\n\nSo said she: then King Arthur spake:\n\u201cAlbeit indeed I dare not take\nSuch praise on me, for knighthood\u2019s sake\nAnd love of ladies will I make\n   Assay if better none may be.\u201d\nBy girdle and by sheath he caught\nThe sheathed and girded sword, and wrought\nWith strength whose force availed him nought\n   To save and set her free.\n\nAgain she spake: \u201cNo need to set\nThe might that man has matched not yet\nAgainst it: he whose hand shall get\nGrace to release the bonds that fret\n   My bosom and my girdlestead\nWith little strain of strength or strife\nShall bring me as from death to life\nAnd win to sister or to wife\n   Fame that outlives men dead.\u201d\n\nThen bade the king his knights assay\nThis mystery that before him lay\nAnd mocked his might of manhood.  \u201cNay,\u201d\nQuoth she, \u201cthe man that takes away\n   This burden laid on me must be\nA knight of record clean and fair\nAs sunlight and the flowerful air,\nBy sire and mother born to bear\n   A name to shame not me.\u201d\n\nThen forth strode Launcelot, and laid\nThe mighty-moulded hand that made\nStrong knights reel back like birds affrayed\nBy storm that smote them as they strayed\n   Against the hilt that yielded not.\nThen Tristram, bright and sad and kind\nAs one that bore in noble mind\nLove that made light as darkness blind,\n   Fared even as Launcelot.\n\nThen Lamoracke, with hardier cheer,\nAs one that held all hope and fear\nWherethrough the spirit of man may steer\nIn life and death less dark or dear,\n   Laid hand thereon, and fared as they.\nWith half a smile his hand he drew\nBack from the spell-bound thing, and threw\nWith half a glance his heart anew\n   Toward no such blameless may.\n\nBetween Iseult and Guenevere\nSat one of name as high to hear,\nBut darklier doomed than they whose cheer\nForeshowed not yet the deadlier year\n   That bids the queenliest head bow down,\nThe queen Morgause of Orkney: they\nWith scarce a flash of the eye could say\nThe very word of dawn, when day\n   Gives earth and heaven their crown.\n\nBut bright and dark as night or noon\nAnd lowering as a storm-flushed moon\nWhen clouds and thwarting winds distune\nThe music of the midnight, soon\n   To die from darkening star to star\nAnd leave a silence in the skies\nThat yearns till dawn find voice and rise,\nShone strange as fate Morgause, with eyes\n   That dwelt on days afar.\n\nA glance that shot on Lamoracke\nAs from a storm-cloud bright and black.\nFire swift and blind as death\u2019s own track\nTurned fleet as flame on Arthur back\n   From him whose hand forsook the hilt:\nAnd one in blood and one in sin\nTheir hearts caught fire of pain within\nAnd knew no goal for them to win\n   But death that guerdons guilt.\n\nThen Gawain, sweet of soul and gay\nAs April ere he dreams of May,\nStrove, and prevailed not: then Sir Kay,\nThe snake-souled envier, vile as they\n   That fawn and foam and lurk and lie,\nSire of the bastard band whose brood\nWas alway found at servile feud\nWith honour, faint and false and lewd,\n   Scarce grasped and put it by.\n\nThen wept for woe the damsel bound\nWith iron and with anguish round,\nThat none to help her grief was found\nOr loose the inextricably inwound\n   Grim curse that girt her life with grief\nAnd made a burden of her breath,\nHarsh as the bitterness of death.\nThen spake the king as one that saith\n   Words bitterer even than brief.\n\n\u201cMethought the wide round world could bring\nBefore the face of queen or king\nNo knights more fit for fame to sing\nThan fill this full Round Table\u2019s ring\n   With honour higher than pride of place:\nBut now my heart is wrung to know,\nDamsel, that none whom fame can show\nFinds grace to heal or help thy woe:\n   God gives them not the grace.\u201d\n\nThen from the lowliest place thereby,\nWith heart-enkindled cheek and eye\nMost like the star and kindling sky\nThat say the sundawn\u2019s hour is high\n   When rapture trembles through the sea,\nStrode Balen in his poor array\nForth, and took heart of grace to pray\nThe damsel suffer even him to assay\n   His power to set her free.\n\nNay, how should he avail, she said,\nAverse with scorn-averted head,\nWhere these availed not? none had sped\nOf all these mightier men that led\n   The lists wherein he might not ride,\nAnd how should less men speed?  But he,\nWith lordlier pride of courtesy,\nPut forth his hand and set her free\n   From pain and humbled pride.\n\nBut on the sword he gazed elate\nWith hope set higher than fear or fate,\nOr doubt of darkling days in wait;\nAnd when her thankful praise waxed great\n   And craved of him the sword again,\nHe would not give it.  \u201cNay, for mine\nIt is till force may make it thine.\u201d\nA smile that shone as death may shine\n   Spake toward him bale and bane.\n\nStrange lightning flickered from her eyes.\n\u201cGentle and good in knightliest guise\nAnd meet for quest of strange emprise\nThou hast here approved thee: yet not wise\n   To keep the sword from me, I wis.\nFor with it thou shalt surely slay\nOf all that look upon the day\nThe man best loved of thee, and lay\n   Thine own life down for his.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat chance God sends, that chance I take,\u201d\nHe said.  Then soft and still she spake;\n\u201cI would but for thine only sake\nHave back the sword of thee, and break\n   The links of doom that bind thee round.\nBut seeing thou wilt not have it so,\nMy heart for thine is wrung with woe.\u201d\n\u201cGod\u2019s will,\u201d quoth he, \u201cit is, we know,\n   Wherewith our lives are bound.\u201d\n\n\u201cRepent it must thou soon,\u201d she said,\n\u201cWho wouldst not hear the rede I read\nFor thine and not for my sake, sped\nIn vain as waters heavenward shed\n   From springs that falter and depart\nEarthward.  God bids not thee believe\nTruth, and the web thy life must weave\nFor even this sword to close and cleave\n   Hangs heavy round my heart.\u201d\n\nSo passed she mourning forth.  But he,\nWith heart of springing hope set free\nAs birds that breast and brave the sea,\nBade horse and arms and armour be\n   Made straightway ready toward the fray.\nNor even might Arthur\u2019s royal prayer\nWithhold him, but with frank and fair\nThanksgiving and leave-taking there\n   He turned him thence away.\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nAs the east wind, when the morning\u2019s breast\nGleams like a bird\u2019s that leaves the nest,\nA fledgeling halcyon\u2019s bound on quest,\nDrives wave on wave on wave to west\n   Till all the sea be life and light,\nSo time\u2019s mute breath, that brings to bloom\nAll flowers that strew the dead spring\u2019s tomb,\nDrives day on day on day to doom\n   Till all man\u2019s day be night.\n\nBrief as the breaking of a wave\nThat hurls on man his thunderous grave\nEre fear find breath to cry or crave\nLife that no chance may spare or save,\n   The light of joy and glory shone\nEven as in dreams where death seems dead\nRound Balen\u2019s hope-exalted head,\nShone, passed, and lightened as it fled\n   The shadow of doom thereon.\n\nFor as he bound him thence to fare,\nBefore the stately presence there\nA lady like a windflower fair,\nGirt on with raiment strange and rare\n   That rippled whispering round her, came.\nHer clear cold eyes, all glassy grey,\nSeemed lit not with the light of day\nBut touched with gleams that waned away\n   Of quelled and fading flame.\n\nBefore the king she bowed and spake:\n\u201cKing, for thine old faith\u2019s plighted sake\nTo me the lady of the lake,\nI come in trust of thee to take\n   The guerdon of the gift I gave,\nThy sword Excalibur.\u201d  And he\nMade answer: \u201cBe it whate\u2019er it be,\nIf mine to give, I give it thee,\n   Nor need is thine to crave.\u201d\n\nAs when a gleam of wicked light\nTurns half a low-lying water bright\nThat moans beneath the shivering night\nWith sense of evil sound and sight\n   And whispering witchcraft\u2019s bated breath,\nHer wan face quickened as she said:\n\u201cThis knight that won the sword\u2014his head\nI crave or hers that brought it.  Dead,\n   Let these be one in death.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot with mine honour this may be;\nAsk all save this thou wilt,\u201d quoth he,\n\u201cAnd have thy full desire.\u201d  But she\nMade answer: \u201cNought will I of thee,\n   Nought if not this.\u201d  Then Balen turned,\nAnd saw the sorceress hard beside\nBy whose fell craft his mother died:\nThree years he had sought her, and here espied\n   His heart against her yearned.\n\n\u201cIll be thou met,\u201d he said, \u201cwhose ire\nWould slake with blood thy soul\u2019s desire:\nBy thee my mother died in fire;\nDie thou by me a death less dire.\u201d\n   Sharp flashed his sword forth, fleet as flame,\nAnd shore away her sorcerous head.\n\u201cAlas for shame,\u201d the high king said,\n\u201cThat one found once my friend lies dead;\n   Alas for all our shame!\n\n\u201cThou shouldst have here forborne her; yea,\nWere all the wrongs that bid men slay\nThine, heaped too high for wrath to weigh,\nNot here before my face today\n   Was thine the right to wreak thy wrong.\u201d\nStill stood he then as one that found\nHis rose of hope by storm discrowned,\nAnd all the joy that girt him round\n   Brief as a broken song.\n\nYet ere he passed he turned and spake:\n\u201cKing, only for thy nobler sake\nThan aught of power man\u2019s power may take\nOr pride of place that pride may break\n   I bid the lordlier man in thee,\nThat lives within the king, give ear.\nThis justice done before thee here\nOn one that hell\u2019s own heart holds dear,\n   Needs might not this but be.\n\n\u201cAlbeit, for all that pride would prove,\nMy heart be wrung to lose thy love,\nIt yet repents me not hereof:\nSo many an eagle and many a dove,\n   So many a knight, so many a may,\nThis water-snake of poisonous tongue\nTo death by words and wiles hath stung,\nThat her their slayer, from hell\u2019s lake sprung,\n   I did not ill to slay.\u201d\n\n\u201cYea,\u201d said the king, \u201ctoo high of heart\nTo stand before a king thou art;\nYet irks it me to bid thee part\nAnd take thy penance for thy part,\n   That God may put upon thy pride.\u201d\nThen Balen took the severed head\nAnd toward his hostry turned and sped\nAs one that knew not quick from dead\n   Nor good from evil tide.\n\nHe bade his squire before him stand\nAnd take that sanguine spoil in hand\nAnd bear it far by shore and strand\nTill all in glad Northumberland\n   That loved him, seeing it, all might know\nHis deadliest foe was dead, and hear\nHow free from prison as from fear\nHe dwelt in trust of the answering year\n   To bring him weal for woe.\n\n\u201cAnd tell them, now I take my way\nTo meet in battle, if I may,\nKing Ryons of North Wales, and slay\nThat king of kernes whose fiery sway\n   Doth all the marches dire despite\nThat serve King Arthur: so shall he\nAgain be gracious lord to me,\nAnd I that leave thee meet with thee\n   Once more in Arthur\u2019s sight.\u201d\n\nSo spake he ere they parted, nor\nTook shame or fear to counsellor,\nAs one whom none laid ambush for;\nAnd wist not how Sir Launceor,\n   The wild king\u2019s son of Ireland, hot\nAnd high in wrath to know that one\nStood higher in fame before the sun,\nEven Balen, since the sword was won,\n   Drew nigh from Camelot.\n\nFor thence, in heat of hate and pride,\nAs one that man might bid not bide,\nHe craved the high king\u2019s grace to ride\nOn quest of Balen far and wide\n   And wreak the wrong his wrath had wrought.\n\u201cYea,\u201d Arthur said, \u201cfor such despite\nWas done me never in my sight\nAs this thine hand shall now requite\n   If trust avail us aught.\u201d\n\nBut ere he passed, in eager mood\nTo feed his hate with bitter food,\nBefore the king\u2019s face Merlin stood\nAnd heard his tale of ill and good,\n   Of Balen, and the sword achieved,\nAnd whence it smote as heaven\u2019s red ire\nThat direful dame of doom as dire;\nAnd how the king\u2019s wrath turned to fire\n   The grief wherewith he grieved.\n\nAnd darkening as he gave it ear,\nThe still face of the sacred seer\nWaxed wan with wrath and not with fear,\nAnd ever changed its cloudier cheer\n   Till all his face was very night.\n\u201cThis damosel that brought the sword,\u201d\nHe said, \u201cbefore the king my lord,\nAnd all these knights about his board,\n   Hath done them all despite.\n\n\u201cThe falsest damosel she is\nThat works men ill on earth, I wis,\nAnd all her mind is toward but this,\nTo kill as with a lying kiss\n   Truth, and the life of noble trust.\nA brother hath she,\u2014see but now\nThe flame of shame that brands her brow!\u2014\nA true man, pure as faith\u2019s own vow,\n   Whose honour knows not rust.\n\n\u201cThis good knight found within her bower\nA felon and her paramour,\nAnd slew him in his shameful hour,\nAs right gave might and righteous power\n   To hands that wreaked so foul a wrong.\nThen, for the hate her heart put on,\nShe sought by ways where death had gone\nThe lady Lyle of Avalon,\n   Whose crafts are strange and strong.\n\n\u201cThe sorceress, one with her in thought,\nGave her that sword of magic, wrought\nBy charms whereof sweet heaven sees nought,\nThat hither girt on her she brought\n   To be by doom her brother\u2019s bane.\nAnd grief it is to think how he\nThat won it, being of heart so free\nAnd perfect found in chivalry,\n   Shall by that sword lie slain.\n\nGreat pity it is and strange despite\nThat one whose eyes are stars to light\nHonour, and shine as heaven\u2019s own height,\nShould perish, being the goodliest knight\n   That even the all-glorious north has borne.\nNor shall my lord the king behold\nA lordlier friend of mightier mould\nThan Balen, though his tale be told\n   Ere noon fulfil his morn.\u201d\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nAs morning hears before it run\nThe music of the mounting sun,\nAnd laughs to watch his trophies won\nFrom darkness, and her hosts undone,\n   And all the night become a breath,\nNor dreams that fear should hear and flee\nThe summer menace of the sea,\nSo hears our hope what life may be,\n   And knows it not for death.\n\nEach day that slays its hours and dies\nWeeps, laughs, and lightens on our eyes,\nAnd sees and hears not: smiles and sighs\nAs flowers ephemeral fall and rise\n   About its birth, about its way,\nAnd pass as love and sorrow pass,\nAs shadows flashing down a glass,\nAs dew-flowers blowing in flowerless grass,\n   As hope from yesterday.\n\nThe blossom of the sunny dew\nThat now the stronger sun strikes through\nFades off the blade whereon it blew\nNo fleetlier than the flowers that grew\n   On hope\u2019s green stem in life\u2019s fierce light.\nNor might the glory soon to sit\nAwhile on Balen\u2019s crest alit\nOutshine the shadow of doom on it\n   Or stay death\u2019s wings from flight.\n\nDawn on a golden moorland side\nBy holt and heath saw Balen ride\nAnd Launceor after, pricked with pride\nAnd stung with spurring envy: wide\n   And far he had ridden athwart strange lands\nAnd sought amiss the man he found\nAnd cried on, till the stormy sound\nRang as a rallying trumpet round\n   That fires men\u2019s hearts and hands.\n\nAbide he bade him: nor was need\nTo bid when Balen wheeled his steed\nFiercely, less fain by word than deed\nTo bid his envier evil speed,\n   And cried, \u201cWhat wilt thou with me?\u201d  Loud\nRang Launceor\u2019s vehement answer: \u201cKnight,\nTo avenge on thee the dire despite\nThou hast done us all in Arthur\u2019s sight\n   I stand toward Arthur vowed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy?\u201d Balen said: \u201calbeit I see\nI needs must deal in strife with thee,\nLight is the wyte thou layest on me;\nFor her I slew and sinned not, she\n   Was dire in all men\u2019s eyes as death,\nOr none were lother found than I\nBy me to bid a woman die:\nAs lief were loyal men to lie,\n   Or scorn what honour saith.\u201d\n\nAs the arched wave\u2019s weight against the reef\nHurls, and is hurled back like a leaf\nStorm-shrivelled, and its rage of grief\nSpeaks all the loud broad sea in brief,\n   And quells the hearkening hearts of men,\nOr as the crash of overfalls\nDown under blue smooth water brawls\nLike jarring steel on ruining walls,\n   So rang their meeting then.\n\nAs wave on wave shocks, and confounds\nThe bounding bulk whereon it bounds\nAnd breaks and shattering seaward sounds\nAs crying of the old sea\u2019s wolves and hounds\n   That moan and ravin and rage and wail,\nSo steed on steed encountering sheer\nShocked, and the strength of Launceor\u2019s spear\nShivered on Balen\u2019s shield, and fear\n   Bade hope within him quail.\n\nBut Balen\u2019s spear through Launceor\u2019s shield\nClove as a ploughshare cleaves the field\nAnd pierced the hauberk triple-steeled,\nThat horse with horseman stricken reeled,\n   And as a storm-breached rock falls, fell.\nAnd Balen turned his horse again\nAnd wist not yet his foe lay slain,\nAnd saw him dead that sought his bane\n   And wrought and fared not well.\n\nSuddenly, while he gazed and stood,\nAnd mused in many-minded mood\nIf life or death were evil or good,\nForth of a covert of a wood\n   That skirted half the moorland lea\nFast rode a maiden flower-like white\nFull toward that fair wild place of fight,\nAnhungered of the woful sight\n   God gave her there to see.\n\nAnd seeing the man there fallen and dead,\nShe cried against the sun that shed\nLight on the living world, and said,\n\u201cO Balen, slayer whose hand is red,\n   Two bodies and one heart thou hast slain,\nTwo hearts within one body: aye,\nTwo souls thou hast lost; by thee they die,\nCast out of sight of earth and sky\n   And all that made them fain.\u201d\n\nAnd from the dead his sword she caught,\nAnd fell in trance that wist of nought,\nSwooning: but softly Balen sought\nTo win from her the sword she thought\n   To die on, dying by Launceor\u2019s side.\nAgain her wakening wail outbroke\nAs wildly, sword in hand, she woke\nAnd struck one swift and bitter stroke\n   That healed her, and she died.\n\nAnd sorrowing for their strange love\u2019s sake\nRode Balen forth by lawn and lake,\nBy moor and moss and briar and brake,\nAnd in his heart their sorrow spake\n   Whose lips were dumb as death, and said\nMute words of presage blind and vain\nAs rain-stars blurred and marred by rain\nTo wanderers on a moonless main\n   Where night and day seem dead.\n\nThen toward a sunbright wildwood side\nHe looked and saw beneath it ride\nA knight whose arms afar espied\nBy note of name and proof of pride\n   Bare witness of his brother born,\nHis brother Balan, hard at hand,\nTwin flower of bright Northumberland,\nTwin sea-bird of their loud sea-strand,\n   Twin song-bird of their morn.\n\nAh then from Balen passed away\nAll dread of night, all doubt of day,\nAll care what life or death might say,\nAll thought of all worse months than May:\n   Only the might of joy in love\nBrake forth within him as a fire,\nAnd deep delight in deep desire\nOf far-flown days whose full-souled quire\n   Rang round from the air above.\n\nFrom choral earth and quiring air\nRang memories winged like songs that bear\nSweet gifts for spirit and sense to share:\nFor no man\u2019s life knows love more fair\n   And fruitful of memorial things\nThan this the deep dear love that breaks\nWith sense of life on life, and makes\nThe sundawn sunnier as it wakes\n   Where morning round it rings.\n\n\u201cO brother, O my brother!\u201d cried\nEach upon each, and cast aside\nTheir helms unbraced that might not hide\nFrom sight of memory single-eyed\n   The likeness graven of face and face,\nAnd kissed and wept upon each other\nFor joy and pity of either brother,\nAnd love engrafted by sire and mother,\n   God\u2019s natural gift of grace.\n\nAnd each with each took counsel meet\nFor comfort, making sorrow sweet,\nAnd grief a goodly thing to greet:\nAnd word from word leapt light and fleet\n   Till all the venturous tale was told,\nAnd how in Balen\u2019s hope it lay\nTo meet the wild Welsh king and slay,\nAnd win from Arthur back for pay\n   The grace he gave of old.\n\n\u201cAnd thither will not thou with me\nAnd win as great a grace for thee?\u201d\n\u201cThat will I well,\u201d quoth Balan: \u201cwe\nWill cleave together, bound and free,\n   As brethren should, being twain and one.\u201d\nBut ere they parted thence there came\nA creature withered as with flame,\nA dwarf mismade in nature\u2019s shame,\n   Between them and the sun.\n\nAnd riding fleet as fire may glide\nHe found the dead lie side by side,\nAnd wailed and rent his hair and cried,\n\u201cWho hath done this deed?\u201d  And Balen eyed\n   The strange thing loathfully, and said,\n\u201cThe knight I slew, who found him fain\nAnd keen to slay me: seeing him slain,\nThe maid I sought to save in vain,\n   Self-stricken, here lies dead.\n\n\u201cSore grief was mine to see her die,\nAnd for her true faith\u2019s sake shall I\nLove, and with love of heart more high,\nAll women better till I die.\u201d\n   \u201cAlas,\u201d the dwarf said, \u201cill for thee\nIn evil hour this deed was done:\nFor now the quest shall be begun\nAgainst thee, from the dawning sun\n   Even to the sunset sea.\n\n\u201cFrom shore to mountain, dawn to night,\nThe kinsfolk of this great dead knight\nWill chase thee to thy death.\u201d  A light\nOf swift blithe scorn flashed answer bright\n   As fire from Balen\u2019s eye.  \u201cFor that,\nSmall fear shall fret my heart,\u201d quoth he:\n\u201cBut that my lord the king should be\nFor this dead man\u2019s sake wroth with me,\n   Weep might it well thereat.\u201d\n\nThen murmuring passed the dwarf away,\nAnd toward the knights in fair array\nCame riding eastward up the way\nFrom where the flower-soft lowlands lay\n   A king whose name the sweet south-west\nHeld high in honour, and the land\nThat bowed beneath his gentle hand\nWore on its wild bright northern strand\n   Tintagel for a crest.\n\nAnd Balen hailed with homage due\nKing Mark of Cornwall, when he knew\nThe pennon that before him flew:\nAnd for those lovers dead and true\n   The king made moan to hear their doom;\nAnd for their sorrow\u2019s sake he sware\nTo seek in all the marches there\nThe church that man might find most fair\n   And build therein their tomb.\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nAs thought from thought takes wing and flies,\nAs month on month with sunlit eyes\nTramples and triumphs in its rise,\nAs wave smites wave to death and dies,\n   So chance on hurtling chance like steel\nStrikes, flashes, and is quenched, ere fear\nCan whisper hope, or hope can hear,\nIf sorrow or joy be far or near\n   For time to hurt or heal.\n\nSwift as a shadow and strange as light\nThat cleaves in twain the shadow of night\nBefore the wide-winged word takes flight\nThat thunder speaks to depth and height\n   And quells the quiet hour with sound,\nThere came before King Mark and stood\nBetween the moorside and the wood\nThe man whose word God\u2019s will made good,\n   Nor guile was in it found.\n\nAnd Merlin said to Balen: \u201cLo,\nThou hast wrought thyself a grievous woe\nTo let this lady die, and know\nThou mightst have stayed her deadly blow.\u201d\n   And Balen answered him and said,\n\u201cNay, by my truth to faith, not I,\nSo fiercely fain she was to die;\nEre well her sword had flashed on high,\n   Self-slain she lay there dead.\u201d\n\nAgain and sadly Merlin spake:\n\u201cMy heart is wrung for this deed\u2019s sake,\nTo know thee therefore doomed to take\nUpon thine hand a curse, and make\n   Three kingdoms pine through twelve years\u2019 change,\nIn want and woe: for thou shalt smite\nThe man most noble and truest knight\nThat looks upon the live world\u2019s light\n   A dolorous stroke and strange.\n\n\u201cAnd not till years shall round their goal\nMay this man\u2019s wound thou hast given be whole.\u201d\nAnd Balen, stricken through the soul\nBy dark-winged words of doom and dole,\n   Made answer: \u201cIf I wist it were\nNo lie but sooth thou sayest of me,\nThen even to make a liar of thee\nWould I too slay myself, and see\n   How death bids dead men fare.\u201d\n\nAnd Merlin took his leave and passed\nAnd was not: and the shadow as fast\nWent with him that his word had cast,\nToo fleet for thought thereof to last:\n   And there those brethren bade King Mark\nFarewell: but fain would Mark have known\nThe strong knight\u2019s name who had overthrown\nThe pride of Launceor, when it shone\n   Bright as it now lay dark.\n\nAnd Balan for his brother spake,\nSaying: \u201cSir, albeit him list not break\nThe seal of secret time, nor shake\nNight off him ere his morning wake,\n   By these two swords he is girt withal\nMay men that praise him, knights and lords,\nCall him the knight that bears two swords,\nAnd all the praise his fame accords\n   Make answer when they call.\u201d\n\nSo parted they toward eventide;\nAnd tender twilight, heavy-eyed,\nSaw deep down glimmering woodlands ride\nBalen and Balan side by side,\n   Till where the leaves grew dense and dim\nAgain they spied from far draw near\nThe presence of the sacred seer,\nBut so disguised and strange of cheer\n   That seeing they knew not him.\n\n\u201cNow whither ride ye,\u201d Merlin said,\n\u201cThrough shadows that the sun strikes red,\nEre night be born or day be dead?\u201d\nBut they, for doubt half touched with dread,\n   Would say not where their goal might lie.\n\u201cAnd thou,\u201d said Balen, \u201cwhat art thou,\nTo walk with shrouded eye and brow?\u201d\nHe said: \u201cMe lists not show thee now\n   By name what man am I.\u201d\n\n\u201cIll seen is this of thee,\u201d said they,\n\u201cThat thou art true in word and way\nNor fain to fear the face of day,\nWho wilt not as a true man say\n   The name it shames not him to bear.\u201d\nHe answered: \u201cBe it or be it not so,\nYet why ye ride this way I know,\nTo meet King Ryons as a foe,\n   And how your hope shall fare.\n\n\u201cWell, if ye hearken toward my rede,\nIll, if ye hear not, shall ye speed.\u201d\n\u201cAh, now,\u201d they cried, \u201cthou art ours at need\nWhat Merlin saith we are fain to heed.\u201d\n   \u201cGreat worship shall ye win,\u201d said he,\n\u201cAnd look that ye do knightly now,\nFor great shall be your need, I trow.\u201d\nAnd Balen smiled: \u201cBy knighthood\u2019s vow,\n   The best we may will we.\u201d\n\nThen Merlin bade them turn and take\nRest, for their good steeds\u2019 weary sake,\nBetween the highway and the brake,\nTill starry midnight bade them wake:\n   Then \u201cRise,\u201d he said, \u201cthe king is nigh,\nWho hath stolen from all his host away\nWith threescore horse in armed array,\nThe goodliest knights that bear his sway\n   And hold his kingdom high.\n\n\u201cAnd twenty ride of them before\nTo bear his errand, ere the door\nTurn of the night, sealed fast no more,\nAnd sundawn bid the stars wax hoar;\n   For by the starshine of to-night\nHe seeks a leman where she waits\nHis coming, dark and swift as fate\u2019s,\nAnd hearkens toward the unopening gates\n   That yield not him to sight.\n\nThen through the glimmering gloom around\nA shadowy sense of light and sound\nMade, ere the proof thereof were found,\nThe brave blithe hearts within them bound,\n   And \u201cWhere,\u201d quoth Balen, \u201crides the king?\u201d\nBut softer spake the seer: \u201cAbide,\nTill hither toward your spears he ride,\nWhere all the narrowing woodland side\n   Grows dense with boughs that cling.\u201d\n\nThere in that straitening way they met\nThe wild Welsh host against them set,\nAnd smote their strong king down, ere yet\nHis hurrying horde of spears might get\n   Fierce vantage of them.  Then the fight\nGrew great and joyous as it grew,\nFor left and right those brethren slew,\nTill all the lawn waxed red with dew\n   More deep than dews of night.\n\nAnd ere the full fierce tale was read\nFull forty lay before them dead,\nAnd fast the hurtling remnant fled\nAnd wist not whither fear had led:\n   And toward the king they went again,\nAnd would have slain him: but he bowed\nBefore them, crying in fear aloud\nFor grace they gave him, seeing the proud\n   Wild king brought lowest of men.\n\nAnd ere the wildwood leaves were stirred\nWith song or wing of wakening bird,\nIn Camelot was Merlin\u2019s word\nWith joy in joyous wonder heard\n   That told of Arthur\u2019s bitterest foe\nDiskingdomed and discomfited.\n\u201cBy whom?\u201d the high king smiled and said.\nHe answered: \u201cEre the dawn wax red,\n   To-morrow bids you know.\n\n\u201cTwo knights whose heart and hope are one\nAnd fain to win your grace have done\nThis work whereby if grace be won\nTheir hearts shall hail the enkindling sun\n   With joy more keen and deep than day.\u201d\nAnd ere the sundawn drank the dew\nThose brethren with their prisoner drew\nTo the outer guard they gave him to\n   And passed again away.\n\nAnd Arthur came as toward his guest\nTo greet his foe, and bade him rest\nAs one returned from nobler quest\nAnd welcome from the stormbright west,\n   But by what chance he fain would hear.\n\u201cThe chance was hard and strange, sir king,\u201d\nQuoth Ryons, bowed in thanksgiving.\n\u201cWho won you?\u201d Arthur said: \u201cthe thing\n   Is worth a warrior\u2019s ear.\u201d\n\nThe wild king flushed with pride and shame,\nAnswering: \u201cI know not either name\nOf those that there against us came\nAnd withered all our strength like flame:\n   The knight that bears two swords is one,\nAnd one his brother: not on earth\nMay men meet men of knightlier worth\nNor mightier born of mortal birth\n   That hail the sovereign sun.\u201d\n\nAnd Arthur said: \u201cI know them not\nBut much am I for this, God wet,\nBeholden to them: Launcelot\nNor Tristram, when the war waxed hot\n   Along the marches east and west,\nWrought ever nobler work than this.\u201d\n\u201cAh,\u201d Merlin said, \u201csore pity it is\nAnd strange mischance of doom, I wis,\n   That death should mar their quest.\n\n\u201cBalen, the perfect knight that won\nThe sword whose name is malison,\nAnd made his deed his doom, is one:\nNor hath his brother Balan done\n   Less royal service: not on earth\nLives there a nobler knight, more strong\nOf soul to win men\u2019s praise in song,\nAlbeit the light abide not long\n   That lightened round his birth.\n\n\u201cYea, and of all sad things I know\nThe heaviest and the highest in woe\nIs this, the doom whose date brings low\nToo soon in timeless overthrow\n   A head so high, a hope so sure.\nThe greatest moan for any knight\nThat ever won fair fame in fight\nShall be for Balen, seeing his might\n   Must now not long endure.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas,\u201d King Arthur said, \u201che hath shown\nSuch love to me-ward that the moan\nMade of him should be mine alone\nAbove all other, knowing it known\n   I have ill deserved it of him.\u201d  \u201cNay,\u201d\nSaid Merlin, \u201che shall do for you\nMuch more, when time shall be anew,\nThan time hath given him chance to do\n   Or hope may think to say.\n\n\u201cBut now must be your powers purveyed\nTo meet, ere noon of morn be made\nTo-morrow, all the host arrayed\nOf this wild foe\u2019s wild brother, laid\n   Around against you: see to it well,\nFor now I part from you.\u201d  And soon,\nWhen sundawn slew the withering moon,\nTwo hosts were met to win the boon\n   Whose tale is death\u2019s to tell.\n\nA lordly tale of knights and lords\nFor death to tell by count of swords\nWhen war\u2019s wild harp in all its chords\nRang royal triumph, and the hordes\n   Of hurtling foemen rocked and reeled\nAs waves wind-thwarted on the sea,\nWas told of all that there might be,\nTill scarce might battle hear or see\n   The fortune of the field.\n\nAnd many a knight won fame that day\nWhen even the serpent soul of Kay\nWas kindled toward the fiery play\nAs might a lion\u2019s be for prey,\n   And won him fame that might not die\nWith passing of his rancorous breath\nBut clung about his life and death\nAs fire that speaks in cloud, and saith\n   What strong men hear and fly.\n\nAnd glorious works were Arthur\u2019s there,\nThat lit the battle-darkened air:\nBut when they saw before them fare\nLike stars of storm the knight that bare\n   Two swords about him girt for fray,\nBalen, and Balan with him, then\nStrong wonder smote the souls of men\nIf heaven\u2019s own host or hell\u2019s deep den\n   Had sent them forth to slay.\n\nSo keen they rode across the fight,\nSo sharp they smote to left and right,\nAnd made of hurtling darkness light\nWith lightning of their swords, till flight\n   And fear before them flew like flame,\nThat Arthur\u2019s self had never known,\nHe said, since first his blast was blown,\nSuch lords of war as these alone\n   That whence he knew not came.\n\nBut while the fire of war waxed hot\nThe wild king hearkened, hearing not,\nThrough storm of spears and arrow-shot,\nFor succour toward him from King Lot\n   And all his host of sea-born men,\nStrong as the strong storm-baffling bird\nWhose cry round Orkney\u2019s headlands heard\nIs as the sea\u2019s own sovereign word\n   That mocks our mortal ken.\n\nFor Merlin\u2019s craft of prophecy,\nWho wist that one of twain must die,\nPut might in him to say thereby\nWhich head should lose its crown, and lie\n   Stricken, though loth he were to know\nThat either life should wane and fail;\nYet most might Arthur\u2019s love avail,\nAnd still with subtly tempered tale\n   His wile held fast the foe.\n\nWith woven words of magic might\nWherein the subtle shadow and light\nChanged hope and fear till fear took flight,\nHe stayed King Lot\u2019s fierce lust of fight\n   Till all the wild Welsh war was driven\nAs foam before the wind that wakes\nWith the all-awakening sun, and breaks\nStrong ships that rue the mirth it makes\n   When grace to slay is given.\n\nAnd ever hotter lit and higher,\nAs fire that meets encountering fire,\nWaxed in King Lot his keen desire\nTo bid revenge within him tire\n   On Arthur\u2019s ravaged fame and life:\nAcross the waves of war between\nFloated and flashed, unseen and seen,\nThe lustrous likeness of the queen\n   Whom shame had sealed his wife.\n\nBut when the woful word was brought\nThat while he tarried, doubting nought,\nThe hope was lost whose goal he sought\nAnd all the fight he yearned for fought,\n   His heart was rent for grief and shame,\nAnd half his hope was set on flight\nTill word was given him of a knight\nWho said: \u201cThey are weary and worn with fight,\n   And we more fresh than flame.\u201d\n\nAnd bright and dark as night and day\nEre either find the unopening way\nClear, and forego the unaltering sway,\nThe sad king\u2019s face shone, frowning: \u201cYea,\n   I would that every knight of mine\nWould do his part as I shall do,\u201d\nHe said, \u201ctill death or life anew\nShall judge between us as is due\n   With wiser doom than thine.\u201d\n\nThen thundered all the awakening field\nWith crash of hosts that clashed and reeled,\nBanner to banner, shield to shield,\nAnd spear to splintering spear-shaft, steeled\n   As heart against high heart of man,\nAs hope against high hope of knight\nTo pluck the crest and crown of fight\nFrom war\u2019s clenched hand by storm\u2019s wild light,\n   For blessing given or ban.\n\nAll hearts of hearkening men that heard\nThe ban twin-born with blessing, stirred\nLike springtide waters, knew the word\nWhereby the steeds of storm are spurred\n   With ravenous rapture to destroy,\nAnd laughed for love of battle, pierced\nWith passion of tempestuous thirst\nAnd hungering hope to assuage it first\n   With draughts of stormy joy.\n\nBut sheer ahead of the iron tide\nThat rocked and roared from side to side\nRode as the lightning\u2019s lord might ride\nKing Lot, whose heart was set to abide\n   All peril of the raging hour,\nAnd all his host of warriors born\nWhere lands by warring seas are worn\nWas only by his hands upborne\n   Who gave them pride and power.\n\nBut as the sea\u2019s hand smites the shore\nAnd shatters all the strengths that bore\nThe ravage earth may bear no more,\nSo smote the hand of Pellinore\n   Charging, a knight of Arthur\u2019s chief,\nAnd clove his strong steed\u2019s neck in twain,\nAnd smote him sheer through brow and brain,\nFalling: and there King Lot lay slain,\n   And knew not wrath or grief.\n\nAnd all the host of Orkney fled,\nAnd many a mother\u2019s son lay dead:\nBut when they raised the stricken head\nWhence pride and power and shame were fled\n   And rage and anguish now cast out,\nAnd bore it toward a kingly tomb,\nThe wife whose love had wrought his doom\nCame thither, fair as morning\u2019s bloom\n   And dark as twilight\u2019s doubt.\n\nAnd there her four strong sons and his,\nGawain and Gareth, Gaherys\nAnd Agravain, whose sword\u2019s sharp kiss\nWith sound of hell\u2019s own serpent\u2019s hiss\n   Should one day turn her life to death,\nStood mourning with her: but by these\nSeeing Mordred as a seer that sees,\nAnguish of terror bent her knees\n   And caught her shuddering breath.\n\nThe splendour of her sovereign eyes\nFlashed darkness deeper than the skies\nFeel or fear when the sunset dies\nOn his that felt as midnight rise\n   Their doom upon them, there undone\nBy faith in fear ere thought could yield\nA shadowy sense of days revealed,\nThe ravin of the final field,\n   The terror of their son.\n\nFor Arthur\u2019s, as they caught the light\nThat sought and durst not seek his sight,\nDarkened, and all his spirit\u2019s might\nWithered within him even as night\n   Withers when sunrise thrills the sea.\nBut Mordred\u2019s lightened as with fire\nThat smote his mother and his sire\nWith darkling doom and deep desire\n   That bade its darkness be.\n\nAnd heavier on their hearts the weight\nSank of the fear that brings forth fate,\nThe bitter doubt whose womb is great\nWith all the grief and love and hate\n   That turn to fire men\u2019s days on earth.\nAnd glorious was the funeral made,\nAnd dark the deepening dread that swayed\nTheir darkening souls whose light grew shade\n   With sense of death in birth.\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nIn autumn, when the wind and sea\nRejoice to live and laugh to be,\nAnd scarce the blast that curbs the tree\nAnd bids before it quail and flee\n   The fiery foliage, where its brand\nIs radiant as the seal of spring,\nSounds less delight, and waves a wing\nLess lustrous, life\u2019s loud thanksgiving\n   Puts life in sea and land.\n\nHigh hope in Balen\u2019s heart alight\nLaughed, as from all that clamorous fight\nHe passed and sought not Arthur\u2019s sight,\nWho fain had found his kingliest knight\n   And made amend for Balen\u2019s wrong.\nBut Merlin gave his soul to see\nFate, rising as a shoreward sea,\nAnd all the sorrow that should be\n   Ere hope or fear thought long.\n\n\u201cO where are they whose hands upbore\nMy battle,\u201d Arthur said, \u201cbefore\nThe wild Welsh host\u2019s wide rage and roar?\nBalen and Balan, Pellinore,\n   Where are they?\u201d  Merlin answered him:\n\u201cBalen shall be not long away\nFrom sight of you, but night nor day\nShall bring his brother back to say\n   If life burn bright or dim.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, by my faith,\u201d said Arthur then,\n\u201cTwo marvellous knights are they, whose ken\nToward battle makes the twain as ten,\nAnd Balen most of all born men\n   Passeth of prowess all I know\nOr ever found or sought to see:\nWould God he would abide with me,\nTo face the times foretold of thee\n   And all the latter woe.\u201d\n\nFor there had Merlin shown the king\nThe doom that songs unborn should sing,\nThe gifts that time should rise and bring\nOf blithe and bitter days to spring\n   As weeds and flowers against the sun.\nAnd on the king for fear\u2019s sake fell\nSickness, and sorrow deep as hell,\nNor even might sleep bid fear farewell\n   If grace to sleep were won.\n\nDown in a meadow green and still\nHe bade the folk that wrought his will\nPitch his pavilion, where the chill\nSoft night would let not rest fulfil\n   His heart wherein dark fears lay deep.\nAnd sharp against his hearing cast\nCame a sound as of horsehoofs fast\nPassing, that ere their sound were past\n   Aroused him as from sleep.\n\nAnd forth he looked along the grass\nAnd saw before his portal pass\nA knight that wailed aloud, \u201cAlas\nThat life should find this dolorous pass\n   And find no shield from doom and dole!\u201d\nAnd hearing all his moan, \u201cAbide,\nFair sir,\u201d the king arose and cried,\n\u201cAnd say what sorrow bids you ride\n   So sorrowful of soul.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy hurt may no man heal, God wot,\nAnd help of man may speed me not,\u201d\nThe sad knight said, \u201cnor change my lot.\u201d\nAnd toward the castle of Melyot\n   Whose towers arose a league away\nHe passed forth sorrowing: and anon,\nEre well the woful sight were gone,\nCame Balen down the meads that shone,\n   Strong, bright, and brave as day.\n\nAnd seeing the king there stand, the knight\nDrew rein before his face to alight\nIn reverence made for love\u2019s sake bright\nWith joy that set his face alight\n   As theirs who see, alive, above,\nThe sovereign of their souls, whose name\nTo them is even as love\u2019s own flame\nTo enkindle hope that heeds not fame\n   And knows no lord but love.\n\nAnd Arthur smiled on him, and said,\n\u201cRight welcome be thou: by my head,\nI would not wish me better sped.\nFor even but now there came and fled\n   Before me like a cloud that flies\nA knight that made most heavy cheer,\nI know not wherefore; nor may fear\nOr pity give my heart to hear\n   Or lighten on mine eyes.\n\n\u201cBut even for fear\u2019s and pity\u2019s sake\nFain were I thou shouldst overtake\nAnd fetch again this knight that spake\nNo word of answering grace to make\n   Reply to mine that hailed him: thou,\nBy force or by goodwill, shalt bring\nHis face before me.\u201d  \u201cYea, my king,\u201d\nQuoth Balen, \u201cand a greater thing\n   Were less than is my vow.\n\n\u201cI would the task required and heard\nWere heavier than your sovereign word\nHath laid on me:\u201d and thence he spurred\nElate at heart as youth, and stirred\n   With hope as blithe as fires a boy:\nAnd many a mile he rode, and found\nFar in a forest\u2019s glimmering bound\nThe man he sought afar around\n   And seeing took fire for joy.\n\nAnd with him went a maiden, fair\nAs flowers aflush with April air.\nAnd Balen bade him turn him there\nTo tell the king what woes they were\n   That bowed him down so sore: and he\nMade woeful answer: \u201cThis should do\nGreat scathe to me, with nought for you\nOf help that hope might hearken to\n   For boot that may not be.\u201d\n\nAnd Balen answered: \u201cI were loth\nTo fight as one perforce made wroth\nWith one that owes by knighthood\u2019s oath\nOne love, one service, and one troth\n   With me to him whose gracious hand\nHolds fast the helm of knighthood here\nWhereby man\u2019s hope and heart may steer:\nI pray you let not sorrow or fear\n   Against his bidding stand.\u201d\n\nThe strange knight gazed on him, and spake:\n\u201cWill you, for Arthur\u2019s royal sake,\nBe warrant for me that I take\nNo scathe from strife that man may make?\n   Then will I go with you.\u201d  And he\nMade joyous answer: \u201cYea, for I\nWill be your warrant or will die.\u201d\nAnd thence they rode with hearts as high\n   As men\u2019s that search the sea.\n\nAnd as by noon\u2019s large light the twain\nBefore the tented hall drew rein,\nSuddenly fell the strange knight, slain\nBy one that came and went again\n   And none might see him; but his spear\nClove through the body, swift as fire,\nThe man whose doom, forefelt as dire,\nHad darkened all his life\u2019s desire,\n   As one that death held dear.\n\nAnd dying he turned his face and said,\n\u201cLo now thy warrant that my head\nShould fall not, following forth where led\nA knight whose pledge hath left me dead.\n   This darkling manslayer hath to name\nGarlon: take thou my goodlier steed,\nSeeing thine is less of strength and speed,\nAnd ride, if thou be knight indeed,\n   Even thither whence we came.\n\n\u201cAnd as the maiden\u2019s fair behest\nShall bid you follow on my quest,\nFollow: and when God\u2019s will sees best,\nRevenge my death, and let me rest\n   As one that lived and died a knight,\nUnstained of shame alive or dead.\u201d\nAnd Balen, wrung with sorrow, said,\n\u201cThat shall I do: my hand and head\n   I pledge to do you right.\u201d\n\nAnd thence with sorrowing heart and cheer\nHe rode, in grief that cast out fear\nLest death in darkness yet were near,\nAnd bore the truncheon of the spear\n   Wherewith the woful knight lay slain\nTo her with whom he rode, and she\nStill bare it with her, fain to see\nWhat righteous doom of God\u2019s might be\n   The darkling manslayer\u2019s bane.\n\nAnd down a dim deep woodland way\nThey rode between the boughs asway\nWith flickering winds whose flash and play\nMade sunlight sunnier where the day\n   Laughed, leapt, and fluttered like a bird\nCaught in a light loose leafy net\nThat earth for amorous heaven had set\nTo hold and see the sundawn yet\n   And hear what morning heard.\n\nThere in the sweet soft shifting light\nAcross their passage rode a knight\nFlushed hot from hunting as from fight,\nAnd seeing the sorrow-stricken sight\n   Made question of them why they rode\nAs mourners sick at heart and sad,\nWhen all alive about them bade\nSweet earth for heaven\u2019s sweet sake be glad\n   As heaven for earth\u2019s love glowed.\n\n\u201cMe lists not tell you,\u201d Balen said.\nThe strange knight\u2019s face grew keen and red\n\u201cNow, might my hand but keep my head,\nEven here should one of twain lie dead\n   Were he no better armed than I.\u201d\nAnd Balen spake with smiling speed,\nWhere scorn and courtesy kept heed\nOf either: \u201cThat should little need:\n   Not here shall either die.\u201d\n\nAnd all the cause he told him through\nAs one that feared not though he knew\nAll: and the strange knight spake anew,\nSaying: \u201cI will part no more from you\n   While life shall last me.\u201d  So they went\nWhere he might arm himself to ride,\nAnd rode across wild ways and wide\nTo where against a churchyard side\n   A hermit\u2019s harbour leant.\n\nAnd there against them riding came\nFleet as the lightning\u2019s laugh and flame\nThe invisible evil, even the same\nThey sought and might not curse by name\n   As hell\u2019s foul child on earth set free,\nAnd smote the strange knight through, and fled,\nAnd left the mourners by the dead.\n\u201cAlas, again,\u201d Sir Balen said,\n   \u201cThis wrong he hath done to me.\u201d\n\nAnd there they laid their dead to sleep\nRoyally, lying where wild winds keep\nKeen watch and wail more soft and deep\nThan where men\u2019s choirs bid music weep\n   And song like incense heave and swell.\nAnd forth again they rode, and found\nBefore them, dire in sight and sound,\nA castle girt about and bound\n   With sorrow like a spell.\n\nAbove it seemed the sun at noon\nSad as a wintry withering moon\nThat shudders while the waste wind\u2019s tune\nCraves ever none may guess what boon,\n   But all may know the boon for dire.\nAnd evening on its darkness fell\nMore dark than very death\u2019s farewell,\nAnd night about it hung like hell,\n   Whose fume the dawn made fire.\n\nAnd Balen lighted down and passed\nWithin the gateway, whence no blast\nRang as the sheer portcullis, cast\nSuddenly down, fell, and made fast\n   The gate behind him, whence he spied\nA sudden rage of men without\nAnd ravin of a murderous rout\nThat girt the maiden hard about\n   With death on either side.\n\nAnd seeing that shame and peril, fear\nBade wrath and grief awake and hear\nWhat shame should say in fame\u2019s wide ear\nIf she, by sorrow sealed more dear\n   Than joy might make her, so should die:\nAnd up the tower\u2019s curled stair he sprang\nAs one that flies death\u2019s deadliest fang,\nAnd leapt right out amid their gang\n   As fire from heaven on high.\n\nAnd they thereunder seeing the knight\nUnhurt among their press alight\nAnd bare his sword for chance of fight\nStood from him, loth to strive or smite,\n   And bade him hear their woful word,\nThat not the maiden\u2019s death they sought;\nBut there through years too dire for thought\nHad lain their lady stricken, and nought\n   Might heal her: and he heard.\n\nFor there a maiden clean and whole\nIn virgin body and virgin soul,\nWhose name was writ on royal roll,\nThat would but stain a silver bowl\n   With offering of her stainless blood,\nTherewith might heal her: so they stayed\nFor hope\u2019s sad sake each blameless maid\nThere journeying in that dolorous shade\n   Whose bloom was bright in bud.\n\nNo hurt nor harm to her it were\nIf she should yield a sister there\nSome tribute of her blood, and fare\nForth with this joy at heart to bear,\n   That all unhurt and unafraid\nThis grace she had here by God\u2019s grace wrought.\nAnd kindling all with kindly thought\nAnd love that saw save love\u2019s self nought,\n   Shone, smiled, and spake the maid.\n\n\u201cGood knight of mine, good will have I\nTo help this healing though I die.\u201d\n\u201cNay,\u201d Balen said, \u201cbut love may try\nWhat help in living love may lie.\n  \u2014I will not lose the life of her\nWhile my life lasteth.\u201d  So she gave\nThe tribute love was fain to crave,\nBut might not heal though fain to save,\n   Were God\u2019s grace helpfuller.\n\nAnother maid in later Mays\nWon with her life that woful praise,\nAnd died.  But they, when surging day\u2019s\nDeep tide fulfilled the dawn\u2019s wide ways,\n   Rode forth, and found by day or night\nNo chance to cross their wayfaring\nTill when they saw the fourth day spring\nA knight\u2019s hall gave them harbouring\n   Rich as a king\u2019s house might.\n\nAnd while they sat at meat and spake\nWords bright and kind as grace might make\nSweet for true knighthood\u2019s kindly sake,\nThey heard a cry beside them break\n   The still-souled joy of blameless rest.\n\u201cWhat noise is this?\u201d quoth Balen.  \u201cNay,\u201d\nHis knightly host made answer, \u201cmay\nOur grief not grieve you though I say\n   How here I dwell unblest.\n\n\u201cNot many a day has lived and died\nSince at a tournay late I tried\nMy strength to smite and turn and ride\nAgainst a knight of kinglike pride,\n   King Pellam\u2019s brother: twice I smote\nThe splendour of his strength to dust:\nAnd he, fulfilled of hate\u2019s fierce lust,\nSwore vengeance, pledged for hell to trust,\n   And keen as hell\u2019s wide throat.\n\n\u201cInvisible as the spirit of night\nThat heaven and earth in depth and height\nMay see not by the mild moon\u2019s light\nNor even when stars would grant them sight,\n   He walks and slays as plague\u2019s blind breath\nSlays: and my son, whose anguish here\nMakes moan perforce that mars our cheer,\nHe wounded, even ere love might fear\n   That hate were strong as death.\n\n\u201cNor may my son be whole till he\nWhose stroke through him hath stricken me\nShall give again his blood to be\nOur healing: yet may no man see\n   This felon, clothed with darkness round\nAnd keen as lightning\u2019s life.\u201d  Thereon\nSpake Balen, and his presence shone\nEven as the sun\u2019s when stars are gone\n   That hear dawn\u2019s trumpet sound.\n\n\u201cThat knight I know: two knights of mine,\nTwo comrades, sealed by faith\u2019s bright sign,\nWhose eyes as ours that live should shine,\nAnd drink the golden sunlight\u2019s wine\n   With joy\u2019s thanksgiving that they live,\nHe hath slain in even the same blind wise:\nWere all wide wealth beneath the skies\nMine, might I meet him, eyes on eyes,\n   All would I laugh to give.\u201d\n\nHis host made answer, and his gaze\nGrew bright with trust as dawn\u2019s moist maze\nWith fire: \u201cWithin these twenty days,\nKing Pellam, lord of Lystenayse,\n   Holds feast through all this country cried,\nAnd there before the knightly king\nMay no knight come except he bring\nFor witness of his wayfaring\n   His paramour or bride.\n\n\u201cAnd there that day, so soon to shine,\nThis knight, your felon foe and mine,\nShall show, full-flushed with bloodred wine,\nThe fierce false face whereon we pine\n   To wreak the wrong he hath wrought us, bare\nAs shame should see and brand it.\u201d  \u201cThen,\u201d\nSaid Balen, \u201cshall he give again\nHis blood to heal your son, and men\n   Shall see death blind him there.\u201d\n\n\u201cForth will we fare to-morrow,\u201d said\nHis host: and forth, as sunrise led,\nThey rode; and fifteen days were fled\nEre toward their goal their steeds had sped.\n   And there alighting might they find\nFor Balen\u2019s host no place to rest,\nWho came without a gentler guest\nBeside him: and that household\u2019s hest\n   Bade leave his sword behind.\n\n\u201cNay,\u201d Balen said, \u201cthat do I not:\nMy country\u2019s custom stands, God wot,\nThat none whose lot is knighthood\u2019s lot,\nTo ride where chance as fire is hot\n   With hope or promise given of fight,\nShall fail to keep, for knighthood\u2019s part,\nHis weapon with him as his heart;\nAnd as I came will I depart,\n   Or hold herein my right.\u201d\n\nThen gat he leave to wear his sword\nBeside the strange king\u2019s festal board\nWhere feasted many a knight and lord\nIn seemliness of fair accord:\n   And Balen asked of one beside,\n\u201cIs there not in this court, if fame\nKeep faith, a knight that hath to name\nGarlon?\u201d and saying that word of shame,\n   He scanned that place of pride.\n\n\u201cYonder he goeth against the light,\nHe with the face as swart as night,\u201d\nQuoth the other: \u201cbut he rides to fight\nHid round by charms from all men\u2019s sight,\n   And many a noble knight he hath slain,\nBeing wrapt in darkness deep as hell\nAnd silence dark as shame.\u201d  \u201cAh, well,\u201d\nSaid Balen, \u201cis that he? the spell\n   May be the sorcerer\u2019s bane.\u201d\n\nThen Balen gazed upon him long,\nAnd thought, \u201cIf here I wreak my wrong,\nAlive I may not scape, so strong\nThe felon\u2019s friends about him throng;\n   And if I leave him here alive,\nThis chance perchance may life not give\nAgain: much evil, if he live,\nHe needs must do, should fear forgive\n   When wrongs bid strike and strive.\u201d\n\nAnd Garlon, seeing how Balen\u2019s eye\nDwelt on him as his heart waxed high\nWith joy in wrath to see him nigh,\nRose wolf-like with a wolfish cry\n   And crossed and smote him on the face,\nSaying, \u201cKnight, what wouldst thou with me?  Eat,\nFor shame, and gaze not: eat thy meat\nDo that thou art come for: stands thy seat\n   Next ours of royal race?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell hast thou said: thy rede rings true;\nThat which I came for will I do,\u201d\nQuoth Balen: forth his fleet sword flew,\nAnd clove the head of Garlon through\n   Clean to the shoulders.  Then he cried\nLoud to his lady, \u201cGive me here\nThe truncheon of the shameful spear\nWherewith he slew your knight, when fear\n   Bade hate in darkness ride.\u201d\n\nAnd gladly, bright with grief made glad,\nShe gave the truncheon as he bade,\nFor still she bare it with her, sad\nAnd strong in hopeless hope she had,\n   Through all dark days of thwarting fear,\nTo see if doom should fall aright\nAnd as God\u2019s fire-fraught thunder smite\nThat head, clothed round with hell-faced night,\n   Bare now before her here.\n\nAnd Balen smote therewith the dead\nDark felon\u2019s body through, and said\nAloud, \u201cWith even this truncheon, red\nWith baser blood than brave men bled\n   Whom in thy shameful hand it slew,\nThou hast slain a nobler knight, and now\nIt clings and cleaves thy body: thou\nShall cleave again no brave man\u2019s brow,\n   Though hell would aid anew.\u201d\n\nAnd toward his host he turned and spake;\n\u201cNow for your son\u2019s long-suffering sake\nBlood ye may fetch enough, and take\nWherewith to heal his hurt, and make\n   Death warm as life.\u201d  Then rose a cry\nLoud as the wind\u2019s when stormy spring\nMakes all the woodland rage and ring:\n\u201cThou hast slain my brother,\u201d said the king,\n   \u201cAnd here with him shalt die.\u201d\n\n\u201cAy?\u201d Balen laughed him answer.  \u201cWell,\nDo it then thyself.\u201d  And the answer fell\nFierce as a blast of hate from hell,\n\u201cNo man of mine that with me dwell\n   Shall strike at thee but I their lord\nFor love of this my brother slain.\u201d\nAnd Pellam caught and grasped amain\nA grim great weapon, fierce and fain\n   To feed his hungering sword.\n\nAnd eagerly he smote, and sped\nNot well: for Balen\u2019s blade, yet red\nWith lifeblood of the murderous dead,\nBetween the swordstroke and his head\n   Shone, and the strength of the eager stroke\nShore it in sunder: then the knight,\nNaked and weaponless for fight,\nRan seeking him a sword to smite\n   As hope within him woke.\n\nAnd so their flight for deathward fast\nFrom chamber forth to chamber passed\nWhere lay no weapon, till the last\nWhose doors made way for Balen cast\n   Upon him as a sudden spell\nWonder that even as lightning leapt\nAcross his heart and eyes, and swept\nAs storm across his soul that kept\n   Wild watch, and watched not well.\n\nFor there the deed he did, being near\nDeath\u2019s danger, breathless as the deer\nDriven hard to bay, but void of fear,\nBrought sorrow down for many a year\n   On many a man in many a land.\nAll glorious shone that chamber, bright\nAs burns at sunrise heaven\u2019s own height:\nWith cloth of gold the bed was dight,\n   That flamed on either hand.\n\nAnd one he saw within it lie:\nA table of all clear gold thereby\nStood stately, fair as morning\u2019s eye,\nWith four strong silver pillars, high\n   And firm as faith and hope may be:\nAnd on it shone the gift he sought,\nA spear most marvellously wrought,\nThat when his eye and handgrip caught\n   Small fear at heart had he.\n\nRight on King Pellam then, as fire\nTurns when the thwarting winds wax higher,\nHe turned, and smote him down.  So dire\nThe stroke was, when his heart\u2019s desire\n   Struck, and had all its fill of hate,\nThat as the king fell swooning down\nFell the walls, rent from base to crown,\nProne as prone seas that break and drown\n   Ships fraught with doom for freight.\n\nAnd there for three days\u2019 silent space\nBalen and Pellam face to face\nLay dead or deathlike, and the place\nWas death\u2019s blind kingdom, till the grace\n   That God had given the sacred seer\nFor counsel or for comfort led\nHis Merlin thither, and he said,\nStanding between the quick and dead,\n   \u201cRise up, and rest not here.\u201d\n\nAnd Balen rose and set his eyes\nAgainst the seer\u2019s as one that tries\nHis heart against the sea\u2019s and sky\u2019s\nAnd fears not if he lives or dies,\n   Saying, \u201cI would have my damosel,\nEre I fare forth, to fare with me.\u201d\nAnd sadly Merlin answered, \u201cSee\nWhere now she lies; death knows if she\n   Shall now fare ill or well.\n\n\u201cAnd in this world we meet no more,\nBalen.\u201d  And Balen, sorrowing sore,\nThough fearless yet the heart he bore\nBeat toward the life that lay before,\n   Rode forth through many a wild waste land\nWhere men cried out against him, mad\nWith grievous faith in fear that bade\nTheir wrath make moan for doubt they had\n   Lest hell had armed his hand.\n\nFor in that chamber\u2019s wondrous shrine\nWas part of Christ\u2019s own blood, the wine\nShed of the true triumphal vine\nWhose growth bids earth\u2019s deep darkness shine\n   As heaven\u2019s deep light through the air and sea;\nThat mystery toward our northern shore\nArimathean Joseph bore\nFor healing of our sins of yore,\n   That grace even there might be.\n\nAnd with that spear there shrined apart\nWas Christ\u2019s side smitten to the heart.\nAnd fiercer than the lightning\u2019s dart\nThe stroke was, and the deathlike smart\n   Wherewith, nigh drained of blood and breath,\nThe king lay stricken as one long dead:\nAnd Joseph\u2019s was the blood there shed,\nFor near akin was he that bled,\n   Near even as life to death.\n\nAnd therefore fell on all that land\nSorrow: for still on either hand,\nAs Balen rode alone and scanned\nBright fields and cities built to stand\n   Till time should break them, dead men lay;\nAnd loud and long from all their folk\nLiving, one cry that cursed him broke;\nThree countries had his dolorous stroke\n   Slain, or should surely slay.\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nIn winter, when the year burns low\nAs fire wherein no firebrands glow,\nAnd winds dishevel as they blow\nThe lovely stormy wings of snow,\n   The hearts of northern men burn bright\nWith joy that mocks the joy of spring\nTo hear all heaven\u2019s keen clarions ring\nMusic that bids the spirit sing\n   And day give thanks for night.\n\nAloud and dark as hell or hate\nRound Balen\u2019s head the wind of fate\nBlew storm and cloud from death\u2019s wide gate:\nBut joy as grief in him was great\n   To face God\u2019s doom and live or die,\nSorrowing for ill wrought unaware,\nRejoicing in desire to dare\nAll ill that innocence might bear\n   With changeless heart and eye.\n\nYet passing fain he was when past\nThose lands and woes at length and last.\nEight times, as thence he fared forth fast,\nDawn rose and even was overcast\n   With starry darkness dear as day,\nBefore his venturous quest might meet\nAdventure, seeing within a sweet\nGreen low-lying forest, hushed in heat,\n   A tower that barred his way.\n\nStrong summer, dumb with rapture, bound\nWith golden calm the woodlands round\nWherethrough the knight forth faring found\nA knight that on the greenwood ground\n   Sat mourning: fair he was to see,\nAnd moulded as for love or fight\nA maiden\u2019s dreams might frame her knight;\nBut sad in joy\u2019s far-flowering sight\n   As grief\u2019s blind thrall might be.\n\n\u201cGod save you,\u201d Balen softly said,\n\u201cWhat grief bows down your heart and head\nThus, as one sorrowing for his dead?\nTell me, if haply I may stead\n   In aught your sorrow, that I may.\u201d\n\u201cSir knight,\u201d that other said, \u201cthy word\nMakes my grief heavier that I heard.\u201d\nAnd pity and wonder inly stirred\n   Drew Balen thence away.\n\nAnd so withdrawn with silent speed\nHe saw the sad knight\u2019s stately steed,\nA war-horse meet for warrior\u2019s need,\nThat none who passed might choose but heed,\n   So strong he stood, so great, so fair,\nWith eyes afire for flight or fight,\nA joy to look on, mild in might,\nAnd swift and keen and kind as light,\n   And all as clear of care.\n\nAnd Balen, gazing on him, heard\nAgain his master\u2019s woful word\nSound sorrow through the calm unstirred\nBy fluttering wind or flickering bird,\n   Thus: \u201cAh, fair lady and faithless, why\nBreak thy pledged faith to meet me? soon\nAn hour beyond thy trothplight noon\nShall strike my death-bell, and thy boon\n   Is this, that here I die.\n\n\u201cMy curse for all thy gifts may be\nHeavier than death or night on thee;\nFor now this sword thou gavest me\nShall set me from thy bondage free.\u201d\n   And there the man had died self-slain,\nBut Balen leapt on him and caught\nThe blind fierce hand that fain had wrought\nSelf-murder, stung with fire of thought,\n   As rage makes anguish fain.\n\nThen, mad for thwarted grief, \u201cLet go\nMy hand,\u201d the fool of wrath and woe\nCried, \u201cor I slay thee.\u201d  Scarce the glow\nIn Balen\u2019s cheek and eye might show,\n   As dawn shows day while seas lie chill,\nHe heard, though pity took not heed,\nBut smiled and spake, \u201cThat shall not need:\nWhat man may do to bid you speed\n   I, so God speed me, will.\u201d\n\nAnd the other craved his name, beguiled\nBy hope that made his madness mild.\nAgain Sir Balen spake and smiled:\n\u201cMy name is Balen, called the Wild\n   By knights whom kings and courts make tame\nBecause I ride alone afar\nAnd follow but my soul for star.\u201d\n\u201cAh, sir, I know the knight you are\n   And all your fiery fame.\n\n\u201cThe knight that bears two swords I know,\nMost praised of all men, friend and foe,\nFor prowess of your hands, that show\nDark war the way where balefires glow\n   And kindle glory like the dawn\u2019s.\u201d\nSo spake the sorrowing knight, and stood\nAs one whose heart fresh hope made good:\nAnd forth they rode by wold and wood\n   And down the glimmering lawns.\n\nAnd Balen craved his name who rode\nBeside him, where the wild wood glowed\nWith joy to feel how noontide flowed\nThrough glade and glen and rough green road\n   Till earth grew joyful as the sea.\n\u201cMy name is Garnysshe of the Mount,\nA poor man\u2019s son of none account,\u201d\nHe said, \u201cwhere springs of loftier fount\n   Laugh loud with pride to be.\n\n\u201cBut strength in weakness lives and stands\nAs rocks that rise through shifting sands;\nAnd for the prowess of my hands\nOne made me knight and gave me lands,\n   Duke Hermel, lord from far to near,\nOur prince; and she that loved me\u2014she\nI love, and deemed she loved but me,\nHis daughter, pledged her faith to be\n   Ere now beside me here.\u201d\n\nAnd Balen, brief of speech as light\nWhose word, beheld of depth and height,\nStrikes silence through the stars of night,\nSpake, and his face as dawn\u2019s grew bright,\n   For hope to help a happier man,\n\u201cHow far then lies she hence?\u201d  \u201cBy this,\u201d\nHer lover sighed and said, \u201cI wis,\nNot six fleet miles the passage is,\n   And straight as thought could span.\u201d\n\nSo rode they swift and sure, and found\nA castle walled and dyked around:\nAnd Balen, as a warrior bound\nOn search where hope might fear to sound\n   The darkness of the deeps of doubt,\nMade entrance through the guardless gate\nAs life, while hope in life grows great,\nMakes way between the doors of fate\n   That death may pass thereout.\n\nThrough many a glorious chamber, wrought\nFor all delight that love\u2019s own thought\nMight dream or dwell in, Balen sought\nAnd found of all he looked for nought,\n   For like a shining shell her bed\nShone void and vacant of her: thence\nThrough devious wonders bright and dense\nHe passed and saw with shame-struck sense\n   Where shame and faith lay dead.\n\nDown in a sweet small garden, fair\nWith flowerful joy in the ardent air,\nHe saw, and raged with loathing, where\nShe lay with love-dishevelled hair\n   Beneath a broad bright laurel tree\nAnd clasped in amorous arms a knight,\nThe unloveliest that his scornful sight\nHad dwelt on yet; a shame the bright\n   Broad noon might shrink to see.\n\nAnd thence in wrathful hope he turned,\nHot as the heart within him burned,\nTo meet the knight whose love, so spurned\nAnd spat on and made nought of, yearned\n   And dreamed and hoped and lived in vain,\nAnd said, \u201cI have found her sleeping fast,\u201d\nAnd led him where the shadows cast\nFrom leaves wherethrough light winds ran past\n   Screened her from sun and rain.\n\nBut Garnysshe, seeing, reeled as he stood\nLike a tree, kingliest of the wood,\nHalf hewn through: and the burning blood\nThrough lips and nostrils burst aflood:\n   And gathering back his rage and might\nAs broken breakers rally and roar\nThe loud wind down that drives off shore,\nHe smote their heads off: there no more\n   Their life might shame the light.\n\nThen turned he back toward Balen, mad\nWith grief, and said, \u201cThe grief I had\nWas nought: ere this my life was glad:\nThou hast done this deed: I was but sad\n   And fearful how my hope might fare:\nI had lived my sorrow down, hadst thou\nNot shown me what I saw but now.\u201d\nThe sorrow and scorn on Balen\u2019s brow\n   Bade silence curb him there.\n\nAnd Balen answered: \u201cWhat I did\nI did to hearten thee and bid\nThy courage know that shame should rid\nA man\u2019s high heart of love that hid\n   Blind shame within its core: God knows,\nI did, to set a bondman free,\nBut as I would thou hadst done by me,\nThat seeing what love must die to see\n   Love\u2019s end might well be woe\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas,\u201d the woful weakling said,\n\u201cI have slain what most I loved: I have shed\nThe blood most near my heart: the head\nLies cold as earth, defiled and dead,\n   That all my life was lighted by,\nThat all my soul bowed down before,\nAnd now may bear with life no more:\nFor now my sorrow that I bore\n   Is twofold, and I die.\u201d\n\nThen with his red wet sword he rove\nHis breast in sunder, where it clove\nLife, and no pulse against it strove,\nSo sure and strong the deep stroke drove\n   Deathward: and Balen, seeing him dead,\nRode thence, lest folk would say he had slain\nThose three; and ere three days again\nHad seen the sun\u2019s might wax and wane,\n   Far forth he had spurred and sped.\n\nAnd riding past a cross whereon\nBroad golden letters written shone,\nSaying, \u201cNo knight born may ride alone\nForth toward this castle,\u201d and all the stone\n   Glowed in the sun\u2019s glare even as though\nBlood stained it from the crucified\nDead burden of one that there had died,\nAn old hoar man he saw beside\n   Whose face was wan as woe.\n\n\u201cBalen the Wild,\u201d he said, \u201cthis way\nThy way lies not: thou hast passed to-day\nThy bands: but turn again, and stay\nThy passage, while thy soul hath sway\n   Within thee, and through God\u2019s good power\nIt will avail thee:\u201d and anon\nHis likeness as a cloud was gone,\nAnd Balen\u2019s heart within him shone\n   Clear as the cloudless hour.\n\nNor fate nor fear might overcast\nThe soul now near its peace at last.\nSuddenly, thence as forth he past,\nA mighty and a deadly blast\n   Blown of a hunting-horn he heard,\nAs when the chase hath nobly sped.\n\u201cThat blast is blown for me,\u201d he said,\n\u201cThe prize am I who am yet not dead,\u201d\n   And smiled upon the word.\n\nAs toward a royal hart\u2019s death rang\nThat note, whence all the loud wood sang\nWith winged and living sound that sprang\nLike fire, and keen as fire\u2019s own fang\n   Pierced the sweet silence that it slew.\nBut nought like death or strife was here:\nFair semblance and most goodly cheer\nThey made him, they whose troop drew near\n   As death among them drew.\n\nA hundred ladies well arrayed\nAnd many a knight well weaponed made\nThat kindly show of cheer: the glade\nShone round them till its very shade\n   Lightened and laughed from grove to lawn\nTo hear and see them: so they brought\nWithin a castle fair as thought\nCould dream that wizard hands had wrought\n   The guest among them drawn.\n\nAll manner of glorious joy was there:\nHarping and dancing, loud and fair,\nAnd minstrelsy that made of air\nFire, so like fire its raptures were.\n   Then the chief lady spake on high:\n\u201cKnight with the two swords, one of two\nMust help you here or fall from you:\nFor needs you now must have ado\n   And joust with one hereby.\n\n\u201cA good knight guards an island here\nAgainst all swords that chance brings near,\nAnd there with stroke of sword and spear\nMust all for whom these halls make cheer\n   Fight, and redeem or yield up life.\u201d\n\u201cAn evil custom,\u201d Balen said,\n\u201cIs this, that none whom chance hath led\nHither, if knighthood crown his head,\n   May pass unstirred to strife.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall not have ado to fight\nHere save against one only knight,\u201d\nShe said, and all her face grew bright\nAs hell-fire, lit with hungry light\n   That wicked laughter touched with flame.\n\u201cWell, since I shall thereto,\u201d said he,\n\u201cI am ready at heart as death for me:\nFain would I be where death should be\n   And life should lose its name.\n\n\u201cBut travelling men whose goal afar\nShines as a cloud-constraining star\nAre often weary, and wearier are\nTheir steeds that feel each fret and jar\n   Wherewith the wild ways wound them: yet,\nAlbeit my horse be weary, still\nMy heart is nowise weary; will\nSustains it even till death fulfil\n   My trust upon him set.\u201d\n\n\u201cSir,\u201d said a knight thereby that stood,\n\u201cMeseems your shield is now not good\nBut worn with warrior work, nor could\nSustain in strife the strokes it would:\n   A larger will I lend you.\u201d  \u201cAy,\nThereof I thank you,\u201d Balen said,\nBeing single of heart as one that read\nNo face aright whence faith had fled,\n   Nor dreamed that faith could fly.\n\nAnd so he took that shield unknown\nAnd left for treason\u2019s touch his own,\nAnd toward that island rode alone,\nNor heard the blast against him blown\n   Sound in the wind\u2019s and water\u2019s sound,\nBut hearkening toward the stream\u2019s edge heard\nNought save the soft stream\u2019s rippling word,\nGlad with the gladness of a bird,\n   That sang to the air around.\n\nAnd there against the water-side\nHe saw, fast moored to rock and ride,\nA fair great boat anear abide\nLike one that waits the turning tide,\n   Wherein embarked his horse and he\nPassed over toward no kindly strand:\nAnd where they stood again on land\nThere stood a maiden hard at hand\n   Who seeing them wept to see.\n\nAnd \u201cO knight Balen,\u201d was her cry,\n\u201cWhy have ye left your own shield? why\nCome hither out of time to die?\nFor had ye kept your shield, thereby\n   Ye had yet been known, and died not here.\nGreat pity it is of you this day\nAs ever was of knight, or may\nBe ever, seeing in war\u2019s bright way\n   Praise knows not Balen\u2019s peer.\u201d\n\nAnd Balen said, \u201cThou hast heard my name\nRight: it repenteth me, though shame\nMay tax me not with base men\u2019s blame,\nThat ever, hap what will, I came\n   Within this country; yet, being come,\nFor shame I may not turn again\nNow, that myself and nobler men\nMay scorn me: now is more than then,\n   And faith bids fear be dumb.\n\n\u201cBe it life or death, my chance I take,\nBe it life\u2019s to build or death\u2019s to break:\nAnd fall what may, me lists not make\nMoan for sad life\u2019s or death\u2019s sad sake.\u201d\n   Then looked he on his armour, glad\nAnd high of heart, and found it strong:\nAnd all his soul became a song\nAnd soared in prayer that soared not long,\n   For all the hope it had.\n\nThen saw he whence against him came\nA steed whose trappings shone like flame,\nAnd he that rode him showed the same\nFierce colour, bright as fire or fame,\n   But dark the visors were as night\nThat hid from Balen Balan\u2019s face,\nAnd his from Balan: God\u2019s own grace\nForsook them for a shadowy space\n   Where darkness cast out light.\n\nThe two swords girt that Balen bare\nGave Balan for a breath\u2019s while there\nPause, wondering if indeed it were\nBalen his brother, bound to dare\n   The chance of that unhappy quest:\nBut seeing not as he thought to see\nHis shield, he deemed it was not he,\nAnd so, as fate bade sorrow be,\n   They laid their spears in rest.\n\nSo mighty was the course they ran\nWith spear to spear so great of span,\nEach fell back stricken, man by man,\nHorse by horse, borne down: so the ban\n   That wrought by doom against them wrought:\nBut Balen by his falling steed\nWas bruised the sorer, being indeed\nWay-weary, like a rain-bruised reed,\n   With travel ere he fought.\n\nAnd Balen rose again from swoon\nFirst, and went toward him: all too soon\nHe too then rose, and the evil boon\nOf strength came back, and the evil tune\n   Of battle unnatural made again\nMad music as for death\u2019s wide ear\nListening and hungering toward the near\nLast sigh that life or death might hear\n   At last from dying men.\n\nBalan smote Balen first, and clove\nHis lifted shield that rose and strove\nIn vain against the stroke that drove\nDown: as the web that morning wove\n   Of glimmering pearl from spray to spray\nDies when the strong sun strikes it, so\nShrank the steel, tempered thrice to show\nStrength, as the mad might of the blow\n   Shore Balen\u2019s helm away.\n\nThen turning as a turning wave\nAgainst the land-wind, blind and brave\nIn hope that dreams despair may save,\nWith even the unhappy sword that gave\n   The gifts of fame and fate in one\nHe smote his brother, and there had nigh\nFelled him: and while they breathed, his eye\nGlanced up, and saw beneath the sky\n   Sights fairer than the sun.\n\nThe towers of all the castle there\nStood full of ladies, blithe and fair\nAs the earth beneath and the amorous air\nAbout them and above them were:\n   So toward the blind and fateful fight\nAgain those brethren went, and sore\nWere all the strokes they smote and bore,\nAnd breathed again, and fell once more\n   To battle in their sight.\n\nWith blood that either spilt and bled\nWas all the ground they fought on red,\nAnd each knight\u2019s hauberk hewn and shred\nLeft each unmailed and naked, shed\n   From off them even as mantles cast:\nAnd oft they breathed, and drew but breath\nBrief as the word strong sorrow saith,\nAnd poured and drank the draught of death,\n   Till fate was full at last.\n\nAnd Balan, younger born than he\nWhom darkness bade him slay, and be\nSlain, as in mist where none may see\nIf aught abide or fall or flee,\n   Drew back a little and laid him down,\nDying: but Balen stood, and said,\nAs one between the quick and dead\nMight stand and speak, \u201cWhat good knight\u2019s head\n   Hath won this mortal crown?\n\n\u201cWhat knight art thou? for never I\nWho now beside thee dead shall die\nFound yet the knight afar or nigh\nThat matched me.\u201d  Then his brother\u2019s eye\n   Flashed pride and love; he spake and smiled\nAnd felt in death life\u2019s quickening flame,\nAnd answered: \u201cBalan is my name,\nThe good knight Balen\u2019s brother; fame\n   Calls and miscalls him wild.\u201d\n\nThe cry from Balen\u2019s lips that sprang\nSprang sharper than his sword\u2019s stroke rang.\nMore keen than death\u2019s or memory\u2019s fang,\nThrough sense and soul the shuddering pang\n   Shivered: and scarce he had cried, \u201cAlas\nThat ever I should see this day,\u201d\nWhen sorrow swooned from him away\nAs blindly back he fell, and lay\n   Where sleep lets anguish pass.\n\nBut Balan rose on hands and knees\nAnd crawled by childlike dim degrees\nUp toward his brother, as a breeze\nCreeps wingless over sluggard seas\n   When all the wind\u2019s heart fails it: so\nBeneath their mother\u2019s eyes had he,\nA babe that laughed with joy to be,\nMade toward him standing by her knee\n   For love\u2019s sake long ago.\n\nThen, gathering strength up for a space,\nFrom off his brother\u2019s dying face\nWith dying hands that wrought apace\nWhile death and life would grant them grace\n   He loosed his helm and knew not him,\nSo scored with blood it was, and hewn\nAthwart with darkening wounds: but soon\nLife strove and shuddered through the swoon\n   Wherein its light lay dim.\n\nAnd sorrow set these chained words free:\n\u201cO Balan, O my brother! me\nThou hast slain, and I, my brother, thee\nAnd now far hence, on shore and sea,\n   Shall all the wide world speak of us.\u201d\n\u201cAlas,\u201d said Balan, \u201cthat I might\nNot know you, seeing two swords were dight\nAbout you; now the unanswering sight\n   Hath here found answer thus.\n\n\u201cBecause you bore another shield\nThan yours, that even ere youth could wield\nLike arms with manhood\u2019s tried and steeled\nShone as my star of battle-field,\n   I deemed it surely might not be\nMy brother.\u201d  Then his brother spake\nFiercely: \u201cWould God, for thy sole sake,\nI had my life again, to take\n   Revenge for only thee!\n\n\u201cFor all this deadly work was wrought\nOf one false knight\u2019s false word and thought,\nWhose mortal craft and counsel caught\nAnd snared my faith who doubted nought,\n   And made me put my shield away.\nAh, might I live, I would destroy\nThat castle for its customs: joy\nThere makes of grief a deadly toy,\n   And death makes night of day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell done were that, if aught were done\nWell ever here beneath the sun,\u201d\nSaid Balan: \u201cbetter work were none:\nFor hither since I came and won\n   A woful honour born of death,\nWhen here my hap it was to slay\nA knight who kept this island way,\nI might not pass by night or day\n   Hence, as this token saith.\n\n\u201cNo more shouldst thou, for all the might\nOf heart and hand that seals thee knight\nMost noble of all that see the light,\nBrother, hadst thou but slain in fight\n   Me, and arisen unscathed and whole,\nAs would to God thou hadst risen! though here\nLight is as darkness, hope as fear,\nAnd love as hate: and none draws near\n   Save toward a mortal goal.\u201d\n\nThen, fair as any poison-flower\nWhose blossom blights the withering bower\nWhereon its blasting breath has power,\nForth fared the lady of the tower\n   With many a lady and many a knight,\nAnd came across the water-way\nEven where on death\u2019s dim border lay\nThose brethren sent of her to slay\n   And die in kindless fight.\n\nAnd all those hard light hearts were swayed\nWith pity passing like a shade\nThat stays not, and may be not stayed,\nTo hear the mutual moan they made,\n   Each to behold his brother die,\nSaying, \u201cBoth we came out of one tomb,\nOne star-crossed mother\u2019s woful womb,\nAnd so within one grave-pit\u2019s gloom\n   Untimely shall we lie.\u201d\n\nAnd Balan prayed, as God should bless\nThat lady for her gentleness,\nThat where the battle\u2019s mortal stress\nHad made for them perforce to press\n   The bed whence never man may rise\nThey twain, free now from hopes and fears,\nMight sleep; and she, as one that hears,\nBowed her bright head: and very tears\n   Fell from her cold fierce eyes.\n\nThen Balen prayed her send a priest\nTo housel them, that ere they ceased\nThe hansel of the heavenly feast\nThat fills with light from the answering east\n   The sunset of the life of man\nMight bless them, and their lips be kissed\nWith death\u2019s requickening eucharist,\nAnd death\u2019s and life\u2019s dim sunlit mist\n   Pass as a stream that ran.\n\nAnd so their dying rites were done:\nAnd Balen, seeing the death-struck sun\nSink, spake as he whose goal is won:\n\u201cNow, when our trophied tomb is one,\n   And over us our tale is writ,\nHow two that loved each other, two\nBorn and begotten brethren, slew\nEach other, none that reads anew\n   Shall choose but weep for it.\n\n\u201cAnd no good knight and no good man\nWhose eye shall ever come to scan\nThe record of the imperious ban\nThat made our life so sad a span\n   Shall read or hear, who shall not pray\nFor us for ever.\u201d  Then anon\nDied Balan; but the sun was gone,\nAnd deep the stars of midnight shone,\n   Ere Balen passed away.\n\nAnd there low lying, as hour on hour\nFled, all his life in all its flower\nCame back as in a sunlit shower\nOf dreams, when sweet-souled sleep has power\n   On life less sweet and glad to be.\nHe drank the draught of life\u2019s first wine\nAgain: he saw the moorland shine,\nThe rioting rapids of the Tyne,\n   The woods, the cliffs, the sea.\n\nThe joy that lives at heart and home,\nThe joy to rest, the joy to roam,\nThe joy of crags and scaurs he clomb,\nThe rapture of the encountering foam\n   Embraced and breasted of the boy,\nThe first good steed his knees bestrode,\nThe first wild sound of songs that flowed\nThrough ears that thrilled and heart that glowed,\n   Fulfilled his death with joy.\n\nSo, dying not as a coward that dies\nAnd dares not look in death\u2019s dim eyes\nStraight as the stars on seas and skies\nWhence moon and sun recoil and rise,\n   He looked on life and death, and slept.\nAnd there with morning Merlin came,\nAnd on the tomb that told their fame\nHe wrote by Balan\u2019s Balen\u2019s name,\n   And gazed thereon, and wept.\n\nFor all his heart within him yearned\nWith pity like as fire that burned.\nThe fate his fateful eye discerned\nFar off now dimmed it, ere he turned\n   His face toward Camelot, to tell\nArthur of all the storms that woke\nRound Balen, and the dolorous stroke,\nAnd how that last blind battle broke\n   The consummated spell.\n\n\u201cAlas,\u201d King Arthur said, \u201cthis day\nI have heard the worst that woe might say:\nFor in this world that wanes away\nI know not two such knights as they.\u201d\n   This is the tale that memory writes\nOf men whose names like stars shall stand,\nBalen and Balan, sure of hand,\nTwo brethren of Northumberland,\n   In life and death good knights.","title":"The Tale of Balen","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":15624}